monochrome Posted December 10, 2023 Share Posted December 10, 2023 (edited) I've wanted to write a slow-burn-ish, illness denial/angst/H/C fic for awhile now! Here is the first chapter of one đ„č (Sorry in advance for the somewhat lengthy exposition). This is an original fic ft. my OCs, Vincent and Yves, who are in a fake relationship to prove a point. Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anythingâmuch less the fluâruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room) â Other works with Vincent + Yves (chronologically): I. Fool Me Twice II. Foreign Home III. Small Price to Pay IV. The Worst Timing (you are here!) â   âA wedding,â Vincent repeats. âYes,â Yves says. âA wedding.â Itâs his cousin Aimeeâs weddingâsheâs four years older than he is. Back when heâd gone with his family back to France over the summers, sheâd been one of the people heâd grown quickly to look up toâsomeone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through. Yves has always been used to being looked up toâone of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate familyâand he likes to think that heâs good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But heâd grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship. Aimeeâs getting married to Genevieveâsomeone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people heâs ever met. All in all, itâs a wedding he wouldnât miss under any circumstances. Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimeeâs friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincentâs plane ticket to their wedding in France in the springâa bit of a last minute arrangement, but sheâd sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (âIâd love to meet him,â sheâd said over the phone, âwould it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, Iâll send him an invitation,â and sheâd sounded so excited about it that he hadnât had it in him to turn her down). âItâs very last minute,â he says, âbut my cousinâs getting married, and she really wants to meet you. Itâll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says sheâll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but youâd probably have to take a couple days off.â âOh,â Vincent says, blinking at him. âAre you sure you want me to be there?â âOf course I do,â Yves says. âI think itâs more a question of whether you want to be there.â Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. âAre you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesnât seem like the kind of thing that youâd take lightly.â âThey want to meet you,â Yves says. âAnd I wouldnât mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.â âIt would be a waste of your time,â Vincent says, quietly, âto introduce me as someone youâre serious about if weâre just planning to break things off.â Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincentâthe trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacyâhas an expiration date. The fact that he doesnât know when the expiration date is doesnât change the fact that it will, inevitably, endâwhen Erika gets the point, or fades from Yvesâs life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isnât much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. Itâs not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partnerâas someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not alwaysâand to leave it at that? âItâs not really going to be my day, in the first place,â Yves says. âMy relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we havenât even been together for a year. I donât think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what Iâve been up to. So itâs really up to you.â âI think it would be fun,â Vincent says, âthough only if youâre sure about having me there.â âGreat. Iâm sure,â Yves says. âEveryone will love you.â He does think itâs true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks. â The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret. Vincent agrees itâs best shared on a need-to-know basisâthey wonât be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, theyâll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this. But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later. âSo you and Vincent are taking the week off,â Cara says to him carefully, over lunch. âYes,â Yves says. âAny plans?â âIâm actually flying to France,â Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincentâs involvementâif Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, thereâs no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. âOne of my cousins is getting married there.â âOh,â Cara says, all too knowingly. âWhat a coincidence. Vincent told me heâs also planning on going to France.â âI⊠heard,â Yves says, slowly. âHeâs told me as much.â âI didnât realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,â Cara says, smiling at him. âI thought most people went over the summer.â âYou know what they say,â Yves says. âFranceâs beauty knows no seasons.â âYou should ask Vincent which part of France heâs visiting,â Cara says, with a smirk. âMaybe you guys can book a hotel together.â Yves is positive heâs being laughed at. âItâs the third largest country in Europe,â he says. âIâm sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.â âI think Cara knows weâre fake dating,â he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. âI mean, the dating part, not the fake part.â Vincent blinks at him. âDid you tell her?â âNo,â Yves says. He doesnât think theyâve been that obvious about it. âI just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.â âOh,â Vincent says. âI told her I was attending a wedding there.â An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions mightâve come from. âThat would do it,â he says. Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. âI donât think sheâll say anything,â he says. âBut Iâm sorry. I didnât think sheâd assume.â Vincent seems to consider this. âItâs fine,â he says. âThough it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.â âWe can figure that out when it happens,â Yves says.  At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how itâs always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before heâd met Erika. Heâs sure heâll be prepared for it when it happens. â The entire drive to the airport feels surreal. Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawnâ4am, on the dot. Victoireâs in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. Yves sits in the middleâthereâs not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincentâs sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips. Leon says, âThis is the earliest in the morning Iâve ever third wheeled.â Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, âItâs very nice to meet you, Vincent.â âLikewise,â Vincent says. âYves has told us all about you,â Leon says. âOh,â Vincent says, blinking. âWhat has he said about me?â âMostly that youâre super hot,â Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that. âYou make me sound so shallow,â Yves says. âBut also that youâre really good at your job,â Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. âDid you know Yves likes people who heâs slightly intimidated by?â âI never said that,â Yves says. âItâs pretty obvious,â Mikhail says. âYou guys are conspiring against me,â Yves says, and Vincent laughs. Leon launches into a series of questionsâabout how they met, about who asked who out first, about what itâs like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun. âNo wonder Yves is totally whipped,â Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how heâd given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who hadâdue to unforeseen flight delaysâfound out last minute that she wouldnât have been able to make it on time. Yves hasnât heard this story before, but it doesnât surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. âYouâre exactly his type.â Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. âI canât believe he hasnât invited you over for dinner yet,â Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation sheâs actually been awake for, Yves canât say. She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (âSure,â Vincent says. âJust tell me the date in advance. Iâll clear my schedule.â Yves will have to apologize to him after thisâfor some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.) Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesnât so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if heâs always up this early, or if heâs just naturally immune to tirednessâanother signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like heâs just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes. For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually heâd be distinctly more alert by now. Thereâs a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbsâitâs the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasnât been getting enough sleep for awhile. Itâs fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of themâtheyâll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight. As theyâre unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, âYour familyâs nice.â Yves laughs. âIâm relieved they havenât scared you off yet. Sorry for the⊠well, interrogation, by the way.â âI can tell youâre close to them,â Vincent says, a little more quietly. When Yves looks over, something about Vincentâs smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If heâd ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when heâd lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, heâd ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes heâd had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge. Yves doesnât know. He doesnât even know how heâd go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all? â Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. Theyâre a few rows away from the othersâI wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincentâs ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so youâd be sitting next to him. Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment. âYou must not be new to flying,â he says. Vincent nods. âIâm not.â âEight more hours,â Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesnât have to. âItâll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.â âI have some work to get done,â Vincent says. âOnly after the plane takes off, though.â Rightâno electronics larger than a cell phone until theyâre 30,000 feet in the air. âI thought this was supposed to be your week off.â âIt is,â Vincent says. âI just want to make sure everythingâs still in one piece by the time I get back.â Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. Itâs not that heâs afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers himâitâs more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfortâall of it compounds. Itâs usually difficult to get to sleep, but heâs so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception. Thereâs just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New Yorkâs climate is generally more extremeâcolder in the winters, hotter in the summersâso all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. Itâd be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. Itâs definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that heâs just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver. âDo you think Aimee will be convinced?â Vincent asks. âConvinced?â âThat weâre together.â âIâm sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,â Yves says, with a laugh. âYou donât have to worry about that.â âItâs why you invited me,â Vincent says, âis it not?â âPardon?â âTo show the rest of your family that youâre not still hung up over Erika.â âI invited you for a lot of reasons,â Yves says. âFor one, youâre good company.â âSo are all your friends.â âI thought we could both use a week off,â Yves adds. âItâs France, in the springtime. What could be better?â Vincent says, âI need you to tell me what to do.â âWhat?â âYour cousin paid for my flight,â he lists, counting off his fingers. âYour family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.â He says these things as if heâs listing off all the ways in which heâs indebted to them. âItâd be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. Thatâs what Iâm here for, right?â Yves blinks. âI donât think youâd need my help to make a good impression.â âYou couldâve taken anyone with you, but youâre taking me,â Vincent presses. âThere has to be something you need me for.â If there was nothing, you wouldnât have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincentâs expression. âMy favorite cousin is getting married,â Yves says, fervently. âTo her fianceeâwho is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think Iâd choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didnât like?â âMaybe,â Vincent says. Yves shakes his head. âItâs true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didnât want you to come to France with me, I couldâve come up with an excuse.â He twists around in his seat so that heâs facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincentâs hand. âI like spending time with you. I wouldnât have invited you if I didnât. You donât have to do anything out of the ordinaryâif you have fun on this trip, thatâs more than enough.â Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. Yves has a feeling heâs said too much. It isnât Vincentâs fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything thatâs come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have funâto take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimeeâs sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. âIs that⊠okay with you?â Yves asks. âYes,â Vincent says. âItâs just unexpected.â âWhich part?â âAll of it.â âOh. Well. Iâm sorry if I misled you, or anything.â âYou didnât.â This time, Vincent really does smileâa sly, quicksilver thing. âFor the record, I am very excited to go to your cousinâs wedding.â âThank god,â Yves says. âThatâs good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.â He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. Itâs probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesnât have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing. He shuts his eyes and tries. Itâs no use. Heâs tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but itâs too cold to get to sleepâit feels impossible to get comfortable like this. So he picks up a novel heâd been meaning to get toâsomething suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight. When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. âIs it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?â Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New Yorkâs cold winters, so Yves isnât sure heâs the best point of reference. âDo you need my jacket?â he asks. âNo,â Yves says quickly. âItâs not that bad.â âOkay,â Vincent says. âIf youâre certain.â He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to readingâor, more accurately, trying and failing to read. Itâs mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, andâfinally, defeatedâdog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him. The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves canât quite make out. Yves asks for orange juiceâitâs not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise. The flight attendant pours him the orange juice heâs asked forâno ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)âand sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasnât eaten all day, but strangely, he doesnât have much of an appetite. He doesnât register the flight attendant from beforeâthe one Vincent talked toâis back until he hears Vincentâs quiet âthanksâ to his left. Something brushes against his arm. He looks up. Itâs one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadnât given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reservedâgiven only upon request, maybe. âYou said you were cold,â Vincentâwhoâs holding out the blanket for himâsays, by way of explanation. Yves blinks at him. Heâs about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that itâs not that coldâthat he wouldâve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didnât have to go out of his way to ask for one. But his head hurts. He hasnât been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement. âThanks,â he says, taking it. âThis is perfect. I wonât be cold with this.â He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around himâlike a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if heâd had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight. Itâs nice. Heâs still a little cold, with the blanket, but itâs enough to keep him from openly shivering. He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. Itâs going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that itâs light out. âIâm going to try to nap,â he tells Vincent. âBut wake me up if I need anythingâelbow me if you have to. Iâm not usually a heavy sleeper.â âOkay,â Vincent says. âIâll try not to wake you.â âYou can wake me whenever,â Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. âDonât work too hard.â Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks heâs working exactly as hard as he should be. âNo promises.â Itâs not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shutâitâs certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe itâs the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincentâon the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe itâs the cup of black coffee heâd downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport. In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting. â Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. âSorry,â he says. âIâm up.â âA âlight sleeper,â you said,â Vincent says. âWe just landed.â Yves says, âIâm wide awake.â The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like heâs trying not to laugh. Vincentâs stowed away his laptop alreadyâYves hopes thatâs a sign that heâs done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing. âHow was the flight for you?â Yves says. Vincent looks at him. âUneventful,â he says, at last. âNot enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?â âThey were very enthralling. How was your nap?â âGood,â Yves says, even though he doesnât feel particularly rested. Heâs just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. Heâs sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, heâll feel much better. âI probably needed it.â His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncomingâ âhH-âIZscHHâiew!â The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels⊠off. âBless you,â Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be. Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. âThanks.â Everythingâfrom the moment they step off the planeâis exhaustingly hectic. The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport theyâve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, itâs international customs, baggage claim, and then theyâre headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something thatâs worth commenting on. Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostlyâabout Aimee, about how sheâs been in his life for longer than heâs known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (âShe was practically an older sister to me,â he says, âexcept we never fought,â to which Vincent says, âYou make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,â to which Yves says, âIt definitely is.â) His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in alreadyâtheyâll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if itâs not too late. He probably wonât see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfastâand even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimeeâs been telling him about. The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isnât really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore. Heâs cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way thatâs difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. Heâs starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadnât been the problem after all. None of that is particularly visible to any of the othersâthat is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shutâ âGod, sorry, Iâ hh-! hHehhâiiZZSCHhâiiEW!â âBless you,â Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once. âYouâd better not be getting sick,â Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that heâs joking. âThat would really be the worst timing.â âIâm not,â Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. âI promise.â Or, perhaps more accuratelyâhe canât be. It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and sheâs one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. Heâs here, in France. Tomorrow, heâll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and heâll get to give Aimee the gifts heâs gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as plannedâthe welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows. It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and heâll give the speech he has prepared at Aimeeâs wedding, and theyâll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that heâs coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right. Heâs going to make sure of it.  â  Thank you so much for reading! â€ïž I would love to hear what you thought! Edited February 3 by monochrome Link to comment
SleepingPhlox Posted December 10, 2023 Share Posted December 10, 2023 This is a very interesting beginning and makes me really interested in what's to come. I like the interplay between your characters, and boy oh boy do I like the way you write the slow burn - peppering in little details of the illness in between setting the rest of the scene. That's one of my favourite things ever! Link to comment
sneezysunshine Posted December 10, 2023 Share Posted December 10, 2023 (edited) I adore these two!! They are so cute and I love the way you're writing their relationship. And the way you sprinkle in the cold symptoms here is just wow!! When I found the first part of these I just stopped everything I was doing and read through it all in one sitting haha. So thank you for writing and giving us more of these two đ Edited December 10, 2023 by sneezysunshine Link to comment
funbusej Posted December 11, 2023 Share Posted December 11, 2023 I really love, love, LOVE Vincent. He's so in control all the time, and for some reason Yves is the one that manages to make him ruffled. He's super observant too, and that sort of thing is my KRYPTONITE! Yves...my dude, your timing is the worst, but you have the right people with you to make it all bearable! Can't wait for what else is in store! Are these 2 finally going to admit that they like each other, and are actually dating?! Link to comment
RipleyToo Posted December 11, 2023 Share Posted December 11, 2023 Love your characters and your writing like always! Hopefully there will be more!! Link to comment
Mysecretlifee Posted December 12, 2023 Share Posted December 12, 2023 I saw this on Tumblr first!! Lol I love this story, and these characters, I read all of the other ones too and I'm following avidly now! Link to comment
Not Telling Posted December 16, 2023 Share Posted December 16, 2023 On 12/12/2023 at 1:52 PM, Mysecretlifee said: I love this story, and these characters, I read all of the other ones too and I'm following avidly now! Same! I adore this so much and thank you for putting links to all other installments of these 2 boys. So excited to see how this develops! I'm definitely holding onto the hope that there will be some confessions of true feelings towards each other. Link to comment
greencat Posted December 16, 2023 Share Posted December 16, 2023 11 hours ago, Not Telling said: Same! I adore this so much and thank you for putting links to all other installments of these 2 boys. So excited to see how this develops! I'm definitely holding onto the hope that there will be some confessions of true feelings towards each other. Yes! I'm very invested in seeing how they progress in their "relationship" and hope to see all the slow burn until they finally confess their real feelings. The characters feel very real and with their own personalities and desires, etc. The writing is amazing the little things that just hint at developing feelings is such a nice touch Link to comment
monochrome Posted January 5 Author Share Posted January 5 (edited) Replies! @SleepingPhlox - Thank you so much!!! đ„čđ I'm happy that the pacing isn't too slow for your tastes!! Slow burn is something I've really struggled with in the past - I feel like I've always been prone to rushing things, pacing-wise, so almost everything I've written with these two have been me trying to balance that out and take things at a more reasonable pace đ But I've always found it fun to read slow burn specifically w/ sneezefic/sickfic too! That's definitely one of my guilty pleasures â€ïž @sneezysunshine - Thank you!!! I'm so happy you like them â€ïž omg I'm honored that you went back and read my other works with these two as well!! This is definitely one of the longest I've stuck with two characters in a snz context, I really want to write their story from start to finish. Thank you so much for reading and staying with them đââïž @funbusej - I LOVE your description of Vincent - it's so lovely to hear what you've observed of his character, and I'm really glad you like him đâ€ïž !! He's such a fun character to write dialogue for (but I am glad the story is not in his perspective, bc it's just easier to have him be more narratively closed off, haha). Will they admit things indeed... @RipleyToo - Thank you for reading (I thought of you when I was writing sick Yves haha, I know you've been waiting for it đ)! More is in store! đœïž @Mysecretlifee - Ahh, you found me on both sites!! It always makes me happy when people read everything I've written in the series! Thank you for reading and for commenting! đ @Not Telling - Thank you so much for reading!! đ I'm glad the links came in handy + that you were able to find everything đ„č (I've been thinking about how best to link/group everything on like the multiple disparate installments). No spoilers, but I think they'll definitely have to talk about their feelings someday đââïž I would say hopefully soon, but knowing these two... @greencat - AHH thank you for your kind words!! It means a lot to me that you like the writing! đ I giggled seeing you put "relationship" in quotes, thank you for sticking through their slow burn - fake dating is such a fun (and excruciating) setup for romance đ â Here's part 2!! This installment took me forever to edit (and to be honest, I don't know if I'm happy with how it is now... but I also don't know if it's going to get that much better if I keep sitting on it haha.) If you're reading this, thank you for waiting, and I hope you enjoy :') â      When they get to the hotel Aimeeâs booked for them, itâs already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart. Itâs an exceptionally nice hotelâpicturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. Heâd looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at. They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoireâs room, which is on his and Vincentâs floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (âDonât be late to breakfast tomorrow,â he tells them, sternly, and Leonâwho has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with himâlaughs. âIâm especially talking to you,â Yves adds, looking straight at him). Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. âIâm so ready to crash,â he says, to Vincent. âItâs been a long day. Are you tired?â âIâll be tired once I lay down,â Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader. The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in. Their room is a standard suiteâthereâs a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frameâthough not a proper doorâwhich leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. Itâs a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. Itâs only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes whatâs wrong. The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else. Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if theyâre really dating. âI can take the couch,â Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesnât feel any better than it did earlier. Vincent turns to look at him. âI mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesnât have to extend to us sharing a bed.â Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friendsâand in this case, familyâdoesnât mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when theyâre in private. âYou can have the bed,â Vincent says. âThe bed will probably be warmer.â Whether thatâs a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether itâs just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesnât know. âItâs fine,â Yves says. âI donât mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. Iâm sure theyâre just hidden in some drawer somewhere.â He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what heâs looking forâa feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm. âSee,â he says, flashing Vincent a smile. âIâll be perfectly warm, like this.â Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. âYou should wake me if youâre not,â he says. âI donât mind switching.â âDuly noted,â Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason. âThe couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,â Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. âIt should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.â âI can do it,â Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, thereâs a faint tickle thatâs managed to settle into his sinuses. âItâs the least I can do, if Iâm taking the bed,â Vincent says. Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitchingâ âHh-! hHehhâIIZSCHh-IIEW!â âBless you,â Vincent calls, from the next room over. âThanks,â Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. âhHeh-! HEHHâIiITSHHiEW! snf-!â When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame. âThanks,â Yves says, fluffing out the blanket heâs holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. âAll set up.â He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enoughâa little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows. âAre these your pillows?â Yves says. âTheyâre yours now.â âI can sleep without pillows.â âThey gave me two sets, anyways,â Vincent says. âI wouldnât have made use of these ones.â âOkay.â Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroomâhe can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. âDo you think this is what couples do when theyâre traveling and they get in a fight?â âIs that what weâre doing?â Vincent asks. âIt might as well be,â Yves says. âIf your family walks in and sees that Iâve banished you to the sofa, I donât think Iâll ever be forgiven,â Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesnât register as a joke. Yves laughs. âYou can just say I snore,â he says. âOr, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.â âDo you?â Yves doesnâtâat least, heâs been told he doesnâtâbut itâs of no consequence. Theyâre not going to be sharing a bed. âLuckily for you, you wonât have to find out.â He gets settledâsets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes heâs planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit heâs going to wear for the wedding in the closet. Heâd been careful folding it, but heâll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the showerâs running. The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though sheâs the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense. He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accentedâitâs been awhile since heâs gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that heâs not familiar with and ends up having to ask about. By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp. âI got us extra waters,â Yves says. âThereâs a convenience store down on the first floor.â âOh,â Vincent says. âThanks. You didnât have to.â He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though heâs wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought. âIt was nice to stretch my legs,â Yves says. âAnd nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.â âAre you fluent?â âFluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there arenât as many opportunities to practice French.â âI donât think you would have lost much of it,â Vincent says, as if from experience. Yves laughs. âFor my own sake, letâs hope not.â When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see. He looks fine, still, at least outwardlyâa little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. Thereâs a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesnât feel like he has a fever. Heâs just a little colder than usual, is all. All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesnât seem very evident that anything is wrong at all. He takes a shower, cranks the water up until itâs almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. Itâs the first time today that heâs been really, properly warmâif only because heâs turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at. The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam. Itâs fine. It will be fine. Heâll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. Heâll be good as new tomorrow. â When Yves blinks awake, itâs still dark out. The first thing that registers to him is that heâs cold. What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worseâhis head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, heâs freezing. The air conditioning in the room is onâhe can hear the low hum of it through the ventsâand everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts. When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probablyâeven if they are technically in operation, he doesnât want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day. Heâll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. Itâs almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he wonât feel the cold as much. Thereâs a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequentâ âHhehâ! hHEHHâiISHHhi-iEw!â Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be. And Yvesâs nose is starting to tickle again. He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the nextâ âhhEHâ hehhâIZschhH-IIEW! snf-!â The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but itâs far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that itâs quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isnât even a proper door between them. He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throatâwhatever hope heâd had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute. He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, thereâs nothing. His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise. âhHh-! hhH-!...â Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last secondâhe canât seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. âhhHEh-!â The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at lastâloud and forceful and vicious. âhehHâNGKTâshhHâEEW!â A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves canât claim heâs ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. Itâs not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse. âHheh⊠hh-!â He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. âhHeh⊠hh-hHih-HEHhâDJJSHhâiEEW!â This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. Heâs nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze. For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very leastâthere would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and thatâs something, isnât it? Before he can seriously consider it, heâs snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers. âhhHeh-iIDDSHHhhâYyiiEW!â He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat. He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a reliefâtruthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleepâback in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when heâd been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friendsâbut the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadnât slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needsâafter the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all peopleâis to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves canât keep this damn cold under wraps. Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he wonât be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him. But if heâs entirely honest with himself, heâs not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon. â Yves doesnât remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasnât slept at all. âMorning,â Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. Heâs fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.  âYouâre fast,â Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarseâall the sneezing last night probably hasnât done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesnât say. âHave you been waiting long?â âNot really,â Vincent says. âWe have time.â âGive me a few minutes to get ready,â Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. âIâll be out in five.â He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast. When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway. âHow did you sleep?â Yves asks. âFine,â Vincent says. âYou?â âI slept well enough,â Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincentâs pointed glance at him, he adds, âIâm just a little tired. Itâs probably jetlag. Itâs what, like, 2am over in New York?â â1:42,â Vincent says, checking his watch. âIs your whole family going to be at breakfast?â âIâm not sure if everyoneâs up,â Yves says. âBut Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously theyâll kill me if Iâm not there first.â The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them. He isnât very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while heâs at it. He really doesnât want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket onâwhich is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobbyâhe isnât as warm as heâd like to be. Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. âHope you guys got some sleep,â she says innocently. Yves says, âWe got perfectly good sleep, thank you.â âMorning,â Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59. âYouâre really cutting it close,â Yves says, sniffling. âItâs 7:59,â Leon says. âWhether Iâm on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. Iâm entirely on time.â The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. âMom and dad said theyâre having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,â Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. âThey said theyâd report back if itâs anything life changing.â âThereâs a welcome party tonight,â Yves says to Vincent, âFor everyone whoâs flown in. Youâll get to meet them then.â âIs there anything your parents hate in a partner?â Vincent asks. âDonât worry too much. I donât thinkâ hEHhâŠâ Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins heâd taken. âHEHhâDDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.â His nose has been running all morningâheâd made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but itâs been all of fifteen minutes and heâs already nervous that he might run out. âI donât you could get them to hate you even if you tried.â âMom and dad met in college, at a bar,â Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, heâs grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for himâthe less he strains his voice today, the better. âMom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.â âIt was whether or not itâs ethical to clone extinct species,â Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. âThough this was before it had ever been done.â âApparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,â Leon says. âAnd it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was âat least you kept your promise.ââ âBut now theyâre happily married,â Vincent says. Leon nods. âTheyâve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you donât have to try and impress them. Thereâs no need to overthink it.â âI understand,â Vincent says. âMy parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.â âAnd how did that turn out?â Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand. Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. âBetter than you might expect,â Vincent says. â The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurantâAimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The tableâa long table that seats thirty, or soâis set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowersâlilacs, pink and white roses, orchids. Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesnât drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but itâs a close thing. âYves! You made it,â she says. âI wouldnât miss it for the world,â he tells her, in French. âGod. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.â âGenevieve did a lot of it,â she says. âShe has a good eye for decorations.â Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sisterâYves follows Aimeeâs gaze over to where sheâs standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile beforeâthe sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isnât sure heâs supposed to be seeing. Yves is stricken, for a moment. Itâs so clear that sheâs in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love thatâs uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else? âHow have you been?â he asks. âI imagine preparations have been hectic.â âNever better,â she says, turning back to face him at last. âYouâre rightâitâs been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like Iâm so happy this is happening.â âYou two deserve a perfect wedding,â Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. Itâs a little cold out, even though the sun hasnât gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesnât start to run visibly. âIf you ever need any helpâwith last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving thingsâlet me know. Even if itâs like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.â She laughs. âThank you, thatâs so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I havenât been up at 3am this week, thank God.â âI hope to keep it that way.â Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve. Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. âAre you okay? You sound a little off. And youâre coughing.â And Yves thinks: she canât know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out heâs coming down with something, sheâll probably tell him to sit things outâto get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until heâs feeling a hundred percent betterâeven if itâs at her own expense. Worse, sheâll be worried for the entirety of his illness, heâs sure. As if she doesnât have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes. Aimee deserves a perfect wedding. Thatâs the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. Heâll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell. âIâm fine,â Yves says, clearing his throat. âIâmââ This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. âhH-! hHhhâkKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. Iâmb just getting over a slight cold.â Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, itâs not entirely dishonest. Aimee frowns at him. âBless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if youâd like.â âNice try, but thereâs no way Iâm letting the bride go and get things for me,â Yves says, grinning. âDo you want any cocktails?â âI need to be sober until Iâve officially said hi to everyone,â she says. âCanât make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, whereâs your boyfriend?â Yves waves Vincent over. âCome say hi!â he says, in English. âItâs very nice to meet you,â Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. âCongratulations on your wedding.â âOh my gosh!â Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. âItâs good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. Iâm glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.â âThank you for having me here,â Vincent says, hugging her back. âI know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasnât too stressful for you.â âIt was no trouble at all!â Aimee says. âYves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.â She doesnât mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what sheâs referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. âIâm just so grateful that he met you. Iâm glad to see him happy again.â âI donât think I can take credit for that,â Vincent says, blinking. Aimee smiles warmly at him. âHeâs the happiest heâs been in months,â she says. âI think you are selling yourself short.â After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, itâs actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while heâs here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothingâs gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isnât Aimeeâs. Maybe itâs Genevieveâs, then. âI didnât know you knew any French,â Yves tells Vincent, in English. Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. âI took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,â he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. âI know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.â âFive sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?â âIâm not sure if they are very coherent,â Vincent says. âThe vowels are different from English. Iâm still trying to get the hang of saying them.â Yves is about to respond, but heâs cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle aâ âHh⊠HhEHH-!âIihHâDZSCHh-IIEW!â Heâs glad, for once, that heâs not wearing the suit heâs planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincentâs eyes on him. âĂ tes souhaits,â Vincent says. Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins heâd taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. âMerci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?â âNo,â Vincent says. âI looked it up last night.â âLast night?â Yves asks. For a moment, heâs afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet. âOn the car,â Vincent clarifies. âDuring the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.â âOh,â Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin heâs holding, which heâs sure he has reused at least a couple times alreadyâbut with his nose running so much, he doesnât exactly have the luxury to be picky. âWell, youâll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.â Itâs easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is rightâhis parents have never really been the type to subject the partners heâs brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. Itâs a fun night, especially after everyoneâs a couple drinks in. âI think itâs a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,â Yvesâs dad says, conversationally. âYves wonât have to explain why heâs always working overtime.â Yvesâs mom says, âIsnât that a bad thing? We shouldnât be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.â Yves neglects to mention that heâs pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)âs workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement. Vincent tells them how theyâd metâitâs the same story as heâd told the first time theyâd done this, during Margotâs new year party a few months back, but Yvesâs parents seem to find it extremely entertaining. Yvesâs mom says, âI told you Yves was the one who asked him out.â Yvesâs dad says, âI didnât know if he had it in him.â Yvesâs mom says, âI remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasnât that much of a logical stretch to assume heâd make a move at some point.â (Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he canât be sure.) Vincent practices his French with Yvesâs parentsâYves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he canât quite translate. âA fantastic attempt,â his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. âI canât believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope youâll keep learning..â âI will,â Vincent says. âMaybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.â Thereâs no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesnât mention that thereâs a real chance Vincent wonât see them again, after this. Itâs not a thought he particularly wants to confront. At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, âLetâs toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyoneâs favorite couple!â They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feetâmaybe heâs had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill. Heâs marginally worse at covering when heâs tipsyâand worse, too, at anticipating that heâs going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someoneâmaybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimeeâs friends from work that are seated nearbyâsets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him. Yves just hopes whoeverâs put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he canât quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. Itâs strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting. At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds itâs just orange juice. âI think youâve had enough to drink,â Vincent says. âI havedât had that much,â Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests heâs just a little drunk. âJust a coupleâ glassesâ hh-! hHhEHâIIZSCHhâiIEw! snf-!â He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time. âBless you,â Vincent says. âUgh.â Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that heâs paying attention. âI swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.â Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesnât find that a little endearing. âWhat?â he asks, faux-affronted. âNothing,â Vincent says. âI shouldâve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.â Yves laughs. âAlong with every other college student in the world.â He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasnât been especially conscientious about saving his voice this eveningâwith all the talking heâs been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. âWhat, donât tell me youâve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!â âOnce or twice,â Vincent says, which is a bit of a surpriseâhe canât imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of⊠well, composure isnât the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if heâll ever have the chance to find out. â Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyoneâs plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives heâs closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieveâs friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning sheâd kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that sheâd pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound. âDo you want to head out soon?â Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out. âThat might be a good idea,â Yves says. He says his goodbyesâto his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom heâll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they areâsome of their relatives have cars, but theyâd walked here, and Yves thinks itâd be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone. Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking. âYouâre cold,â Vincent says. It isnât a question. Yves realizes, faintly, that heâs shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. âI donât feel it that much.â âThatâs because youâre drunk.â âIâm ndot drunk.â âTipsy, then.â Yves canât argue with that. âJust a bit. Iâll probablyâ hhEh-!â He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHhâiIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! âsober up soon.â The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly heâs coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him. He thinks it shouldnât be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch. Then he catches himself. Heâs tired, but not so tired that he canât sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. Itâs dark, but they donât have any early obligations tomorrow, and itâs not late enough that he wonât have time to shower, get changed, and get a good nightâs sleep, with time to spare. Yves shifts out of Vincentâs touch. âSorry about that,â he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. Heâs sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all. Vincent doesnât reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. âAre you okay?â âWhat?â âYou almost fell,â Vincent says. âI just tripped. The roads arenât very even, and itâs dark.â Theyâre standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long. âAre you saying that because you believe it?â Vincent says. âOr are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?â Yves stares at him for a moment too long. Heâs sobering up a little. For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everythingâabout how tired heâs been, all day. About how much itâs taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morningâtired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If heâs not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; itâs hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air. Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fineâthat this wedding that Yvesâs been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesnât want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isnât feeling his best. But this is not Vincentâs problem to solve. Yvesâs bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincentâs responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves canât start to expect things out of himâto take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give. He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands. âIâm fine,â Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie heâs ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though heâs not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, canât tell if itâs more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. âIâd tell you if I wasnât.â  Edited January 5 by monochrome Link to comment
funbusej Posted January 5 Share Posted January 5 Oh poor Yves!!! There is nothing worse than waking up at the @ss crack of dawn, freezing cold, and trying to get back to sleep...and there is NOTHING worse than cold sheets! I kept my non-flannel sheets on too late into the season, and It was like falling asleep in tin foil that had been in the freezer!!! Link to comment
starpollen Posted January 5 Share Posted January 5 This is lovely! Â Canât wait for more. đ Link to comment
dwaekki Posted January 5 Share Posted January 5 Aww I loved how Vincent learnt how to say bless you Link to comment
Not Telling Posted January 6 Share Posted January 6 Hooray!! Another update!!! I'm so ecstatic to see anything new with these two! This was marvelous as always and I assure you it is fantastic just as it exists - though I can totally relate to the self critique and uncertainty of an update being post satisfactory- but we're all always are harshest critics and this was just lovely. I'm already on my fifth read. The tension you manage maintain while still establishing a steadily closening relationship between these too is so incredibly good! I appreciate how much time you take to develop your characters and the care you put into writing about these two, it shows. â€ïžÂ 18 hours ago, monochrome said: But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if heâll ever have the chance to find out. Casting my vote that I too would be mighty curious to see Vincent a wee bit inebriated. đ€ 17 hours ago, monochrome said: Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fineâthat this wedding that Yvesâs been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesnât want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isnât feeling his best. But this is not Vincentâs problem to solve. Yvesâs bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincentâs responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves canât start to expect things out of himâto take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give. He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands. âIâm fine,â Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie heâs ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though heâs not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, canât tell if itâs more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. âIâd tell you if I wasnât.â Awww Yves, honey, how can you not see that Vincent wants to take care of of and be there for you???!! Look at everything he's already shown he's willing to do for you all the way from the beginning. Please please lean on him!!! Thank you for this superb chapter! I'm already eager to see what happens next! Link to comment
RipleyToo Posted January 6 Share Posted January 6 Iâm so happy for another update! I love Yves more and more every time I read your stories or updates! Canât wait for more, im excited for the next part! Link to comment
2SHY222 Posted January 8 Share Posted January 8 Yaay an update! Looking forward to what happens next. đ„° Link to comment
Melody Posted January 10 Share Posted January 10 this is one of the best fics/ duo of characters that I have read on the forum / tumblr in LITERAL years. Enjoying it so much omg Link to comment
monochrome Posted January 16 Author Share Posted January 16 Replies! @funbusej AHH I know!! It really is the worst!! đ I used to live in this apartment where I would need two hefty blankets to stay warm bc otherwise it would be so cold overnight haha. It's the worst when you fall asleep warm enough and then it gradually gets colder through the night đ That said, I'd inflict anything on Yves with only a tiny bit of guilt haha @starpollen Thank you so much for reading!! Happy to deliver more đ @dwaekki Thank you for commenting!! I think it's so special when people learn their loved one's languages đ„čâ€ïž @Not Telling You have no idea how excited I was to receive your detailed comment!! Thank you so much for taking the time to leave such detailed thoughts đđ!! Haha it really is difficult, isn't it? I feel like I'll never quite be able to shake myself of that very specific kind of anxiety/self-consciousness with posting; it's so hard to gauge how something might be received and try to evaluate it in a way that's like, through a fresh lens that's not warped by my own biases đ But it means so much to me that you've reread multiple times!! Your message for Yves has me giggling, I think he should definitely take your advice đđ Also tabling inebriated Vincent to write at some point in the future âïž @RipleyToo I'm so happy you love Yves đ„čâ€ïž I think Vincent is generally the favorite (from my tiny sample size of people who have told me their favorites haha), so I'm glad you like Yves + enjoy seeing content centered around him!! đ„°Â @2SHY222 Thank you for reading and being excited for updates!!! đ More to come very soon!! @Melody đ That's such a high compliment, thank you so much!! đââïžâ€ïž It makes me really happy to know that it's resonated with you thus far!! Link to comment
monochrome Posted January 16 Author Share Posted January 16 (edited) Part 3! (It didn't take a whole month this time! Almost unheard of for me, I know.) Please forgive me for any typos or inaccuracies. This series has been strangely so difficult to write đ I am posting this because if I keep on editing this chapter, it will truly never get done. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!   â Itâs fine, until it isnât. â Yves gets home, showers first (only after Vincent insists that he shower first), heads out into the living room, and shuts off the lights. The lights in the bedroom are still on, bleeding in from the doorframe. His head hurts. Every part of him feels cold. He burrows deep into the covers on the pullout bed, rearranges himself until he finds a sufficiently comfortable position, and shuts his eyes. Tomorrow, heâll be away for most of the afternoonâwith the wedding rehearsal, and then the rehearsal dinner with the rest of his familyâand Vincent will grab dinner and drinks with some of Genevieveâs friends in the meantime. Yves will probably be home late. They wonât see each other for the entire dayâat least, until he gets back from dinner some time in the late evening. Everything for the wedding is ready. His suit jacket is ironed, his shoes polished; his speech has been written for weeks and rehearsed first alone, and then in front of Leon and Victoire, whoâd told him how to make it funnier (Leon) and more concise (Victoire). Two days from today, Aimee and Genevieve will be married. All he has to do, now, is just see it through. â Yves wakes up coughing. He feels distinctly wrong. His head is throbbing. His limbs feel strangely leaden, like theyâre weighing him down, like itâd be a considerable inconvenience to move themâhe isnât sure if heâd be able to sit up properly. He presses a hand to his forehead, in an attempt to gauge whether heâs running a fever. Itâs no useâhis hand is warm and clammy. He canât tell. Fuck. This is not good. One wrong breath leaves him coughing, harshly enough that the coughs seem to reverberate through his frame. His throat burns. He reaches blindly through the dark in an attempt to find one of the waters heâd bought yesterday night, at the convenience store. Had he left a bottle on the nightstand? Or had he gotten rid of the one heâd drunk from last night? His breath hitches, so sharply that he has practically no hope of holding back. âHhehhâYISHh-CHHiew! hhHEHHâiIDTSSHh-iiEW!â The sneezes tear through him with little warning, leaving him flushed and shivering. Itâs not warm enough in the living room. He doesnât know if itâs the air conditioning in the room, or the relative thinness of the blanket heâs under, or if perhaps the window is open just a crack, or if perhaps he just hasnât been moving enough to get warm. Heâs not sure he could pinpoint the cause if he tried. The only thing that seems evident to him, now, is that he feels immediately, uncomfortably cold. He could get out of bed and look for something to wearâhe hadnât packed any thick jackets, because Provence in March isnât especially cold, but even one of the dress jackets would be better than nothing, so long as itâs one of the ones which can withstand getting a little wrinkled. But when he sits upâor, rather, when he attempts to sit upâhe feels the world tilt, uncomfortably. He braces himself on the frame of the couch, propping himself up with one arm up on the armrest. He definitely has a fever, even if thereâs no way for him to verify that right now. Otherwise, it would be strange for him to feel so cold. Even now, only half-vertical, he finds himself shivering so hard he can barely move the blanket back up to sit comfortably around his shoulders. One wrong breath sends a painful twinge down his throat, and he finds himself coughing, gripping the armrest tightly to keep himself upright. He should get out of bed. He should find water, put on a jacket, make an attempt to get back to sleep. For now, all he can do is muffle the coughs as best he can into a cupped hand. His chest aches with every cough. Every breath he takes in feels like it only manages to irritate his lungs further. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he thinks he hears footsteps. The knowledge that heâs keeping Vincent up is the last thing he needs, right now. Through the crack under the doorframe, he can see the line of light from the hallway, which is lit even at night. Maybe if heâs going to be up anyways, he should spend the night out in the hallwayâat the very least, heâll be a little quieter out there. Someone presses a bottle of water into his hands. âDrink,â Vincent says. âItâs uncapped.â Yves brings the water to his lips and takes a short, tentative sip, and then another. His throat is sorer than it had been yesterdayâthe water burns against the back of his throat as he swallows. Vincent steps past him, past the edge of the couch, to doâsomething. Yves doesnât know what. He hears a click, and the lamp on the cabinet by the sofa flickers on, floods the living room with dim yellow light. Vincent regards him carefully, his expression unreadable. âSorry,â Yves says. The next breath he takes in exacerbates the tickle at the back of his throat, and he twists away, muffling cough after cough into a tightly cupped hand. âI didnât mbean to wake you.â Vincentâs eyebrows furrow. He looks⊠upset, somehow, though the light is dim enough that his expression is hard to make out. Yves tries to think of what else he should say, but his head feels heavy. He tries to re-cap the bottle of water, though his hands are shaky enough to make it a little difficult. Vincent takes the bottle from him and screws the cap tight in one fluid motion. Yves tries and fails to think of something to joke about. Vincent presses a hand to his forehead. His hand is comfortingly warm, and a little calloused. Itâs strange, how good it feels to be touchedâhe knows and knows well that it means nothing, but the gentle press of Vincentâs fingers to his skinâwhen heâs spent the past few days trying to keep his distance from everyoneâis strangely comforting. Yves leans into the contact, despite all logic. Vincent pulls away, too soon. âYouâreââ âWarm?â Yves finishes for him. âFeverish,â Vincent clarifies, with a frown. âDid you already know that?â âI had a hunch,â Yves answers, honestly. Vincent just stares at him, for a moment, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. Yves repositions the blankets over his shoulders, a little self-conscious. âItâs fide. Iâll take something for it,â Yves says. âYou should go back to sleep.â âWe slept early,â Vincent says. âIâm not tired.â âWhat time is it?â Vincent glances at his watch. â5:34.â âThatâs still early enough that you should be asleep.â Yves sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head hurts, and thereâs a prickle in his nose again. âSorry. I can be quieter.â His breath hitches. In a frantic attempt to keep his promise, he lifts the blanket to his face and stiflesâor, rather, attempts to stifleâthe sneeze into the fabric. âhhâ! hhEHHâNGKTSHCH-iiew!â Itâs still not very quiet, despite his best efforts, and the attempt to stifle leaves him coughing a little. Itâs a good thing theyâre not sharing a bed, he thinks. He hasnât exactly been careful about keeping this illness to himself. âBless you,â Vincent says, rising to his feet. He ducks into the bedroom, only to be back a moment later with a box of tissues, which he tucks into the crook between the pullout bed and the sofa armrests, conveniently in reach. âWas it like this last night?â âWhat?â âWere you unable to sleep last night?â Itâs not an accusation, but Yves freezes at the question, nonetheless. For a moment, he worriesâthat Vincent knows precisely how little sleep heâs gotten since they landed in France. That Vincent was awake last nightâor worse, that Yves was the one who kept him upâwhich is why heâs asking this question now. But if he knew, wouldnât he have said something about it yesterday? âI slept fine,â Yves says. Thereâs a cold breeze coming in from somewhereâfrom the hallway, or from one of the air conditioning vents, he canât say. Yves tries his best to suppress a shiver. He can tell, by the change to Vincentâs expressionâthe way Vincentâs eyes linger on him a little too longâthat he doesnât do it well enough. âYou should really have taken the bed,â Vincent says, with a sigh. âItâs warmer.â âItâs warm here too,â Yves says. There probably wouldnât even be a problem if he werenât feverishâitâs just the relative temperature difference thatâs making him shiver. âAre you goidg to stop interrogating me ndow?â âIf you stop giving me reasons to be worried,â Vincent says plainly, âThen I will.â Yves sighs. Heâs cold, and exhausted, and he wants this argument to be over. He doesnât want to have to justify all of this to Vincent, who should be enjoying this vacation instead of worrying about Yves and whatever cold-slash-flu heâs managed to pick up this time. âThis is not the first time Iâve been under the weather,â he says. âIââ he veers away to face the opposite direction from Vincent, pulls the blanket up to cover his face. âhHeh-!-hHEHhânGKTTSHH-iiIEw!â âBless you.â ââI kdow what Iâm doing, snf. I don't even feel thatâhh⊠hHheh'iiDDZZCHH-iIIEW!â The sneeze comes on too quickly for him to stifle. ââthat udwell,â he finishes, sniffling, though thatâs not entirely truthful. He lifts an elbow to muffle a few coughs into it, blinking through the tears that are surfacing, irritatingly, in his vision. âSo youâve said,â Vincent says. âYes,â Yves says. âYou can trust me on this.â Vincent looks at him for a moment. For a moment, Yves waits for him to refute this, waits for him to point out just how unprepared he is, just how little of a plan he has aside from sticking this out until he has the chance to crash and burn. âWhat do you need?â he says, instead. Yves blinks at him. Itâs not the question he expects Vincent to ask. âNothidg,â he says, honestly. âSeriously. Itâs just a cold. Iâll take somethidg for it when I wake up.â âCold medicine?â To Yvesâs nod, Vincent says, âI can get it for you, if you want.â âNo need. Iâll probably just â hhEhh-! HhEHhâIITShh-iiEW! Ugh⊠Iâll pick somethidg up from the codvenience store on the way to breakfast.â Vincent turns aside to muffle a yawn into a cupped hand. Yves is unpleasantly reminded that heâs probably the sole reason why Vincent is awake right now. âYou should sleep, seriously,â Yves says, insistent. âMaybe youâll be able to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before sunrise. Iâll be okay.â Vincent blinks at him. âAre you sure?â âIâm sure.â âOkay,â Vincent says, softly. Then he stands, sets the bottle of water on the cabinet by the sofa, switches off the lamp, and heads back into the bedroom. Yves listens as his footsteps recede. His sinuses are starting to feel like theyâre slightly waterlogged, and the pressure from behind his eyelids is back, throbbing. The tickle in his nose heightens, momentarily, and he finds himself muffling another set of sneezes into the bedsheets. He desperately hopes itâs quiet enough to not be disruptive. Itâs hard to be fully quiet when whatever he has leaves him sneezing so forcefully, but heâs determined to try. The coughing fit that follows leaves his throat feeling like itâs been nearly scraped raw. He clears his throat quietly, though that hurts, too. He takes another small sip of the water, though it goes down his throat with such difficulty he finds himself coughing again. Two more days. He just has to make it through. Heâll grab a pack of cold and flu medication from the convenience store downstairsâthe kind thatâs supposed to smother all the symptomsâand then heâll be good as new, heâs sure. Yves shuts his eyes, turns to the side, and tries his best to get comfortable. Heâll be less disruptive if heâs asleep. Itâs just getting there thatâs the problem. Heâs exhaustedâthat fact only seems to become more evident the longer he stays awakeâbut every time he finds himself drifting off, heâs jolted awake by another untimely sneeze which wrenches him back into consciousness. In college, whenever he was up unreasonably late for some reason, Erika used to tell him to Stop worrying, Yves, I can hear you overthinking from the other side of the room. Ask anyone else and theyâd say that Yves has his life reasonably put togetherâbeing the eldest of three does that to you. Heâd spent his formative years growing up trying to be the sort of person Leon and Victoire could lean onâthe kind of person impervious to the sorts of stressful situations heâd gotten regularly thrown intoâand for the most part, itâd worked. Heâd learned, early on, that it is not really that difficult to keep things from people. He likes to think of himself as reliable, even if that means that whenever something does come upâsomething that feels frustrating and insurmountableâit doesnât really hurt any less when he goes through it privately. Erika had always been good at seeing through his bullshit. It was one of the things he liked about herâthat he could lean on her if he needed to, without worrying that itâd take its toll on her. That sheâd take a look at his problems, which always felt so all-consuming in the moment, and make them seem simple and solvable and almost trivial. Itâs hard not to miss her, now, when heâs alone in the dark, devoid of any and all distractions. Or maybe it wasnât her. Maybe it was just having someone he didnât have to hide from. Yves wonders, faintly, what Vincent wouldâve said if he were more honest with him. He and Vincent arenât actually dating, but he thinks maybe Vincent would understand. He thinks that theyâve been getting along well, as of lateâhe might even consider them friends. But then again, hasnât Vincent agreed to do all of thisâlying to Yvesâs friends and family, falsifying their relationship, letting Yves drag him from one celebration to the nextâbecause itâs easy? Because he is willing to tolerate going to a party, or a housewarming, or a wedding, where there are no strings attached, when after the night is over he can drop the act cleanly? Itâs a lie that theyâre telling, but itâs a self contained one. The moment they step foot out of whatever event theyâre attending, thereâs nothing left to pretend. Yves can go back to living his own life, and Vincent can go back to living his. Would Vincent really have agreed to do any of this if that werenât the case? Itâs going to be fine, Erika would have said. Just breathe. Sheâs not around to tell him this, now, but he still tries. The medicine will be enough to get him through today, and the day after. It has to be. â When Yves falls asleep, itâs the kind of restless sleep that sits somewhere in between unconsciousness and wakefulness. He dreams in fragments of scenesâhim at Aimee and Genevieveâs wedding, the details hazy and illogical and unusually bright, the weddings heâd been to in the past all superimposed into one. When he wakes up to the sound of his alarm, itâs to a pounding headache and what heâs certain must be a fever. He canât seem to stop shivering. Itâs already bright outâthe curtains in the bedroom are pulled shut, but light streams in from the sliver of space between them. He feels too cold and somehow entirely devoid of energy, though he doesnât remember doing anything particularly tiring. Sitting up makes the throbbing pain in his head sharpen, so painfully that he has to grip the side of the couch to steady himself, blinking against the dizziness. If Aimee saw him right now, he thinks, sheâd send him straight homeâheâs in no state to attend a wedding, and heâs not sure if heâs in any state to pretend thatâs not the case. He breath hitches. He raises an arm to shield his face, habitually, even though thereâs no one here to witnessâ âhhEhh-âiZZSSHHâIew!â The singular sneeze is, unfortunately, far from relieving. The tickle in his nose is irritatingly persistent, even when he reaches up to rub his nose, which is starting to run. âHh-! hhEH-!! HEHh-âIDDZSCHh-yYew! hHEHHâiDDSCHh-iEWW! hhEhH-! HâIIDzZCH-YIIIEEew! UghâŠâ The sneezes scrape unpleasant against his already-sore throat, leaving him hunched over as he muffles cough after cough into his arm. Thereâs a small packet of cold medicine on his bedside, along with an uncapped bottle of water, and Vincent is nowhere to be found. The medication is a relief. Itâs strangely thoughtfulâa part of him is a little worried that Vincentâs only gotten this for him out of a sense of obligationâbut heâs grateful for it, nonetheless. Itâs exactly what he needs. Surely if he takes something for this, his symptoms will be, at the very least, tolerable enough for him to function as usual. He picks up the packet, squints down at the instructions. The text is inconveniently small, and heâs always been better at speaking French than he is at reading it, but he gets it eventually. Itâs supposed to last six hours. If he times this right, he can take a dose that will last him until the end of the rehearsal dinner tonight, and thenâif heâs not feeling better by tomorrowâtake another before the wedding starts. It will be fine. He uncaps the bottle by the cabinet, downs two pills, squeezes his eyes shut, and sits there for a minute, forces himself to breathe, waits for the uncomfortable pressure in his temples to subside. Then he shoots off a quick textâ Y: thanks for the cold meds đ Y: sorry i essentially left you with some strangers (again) Y: this seems to be a theme for me huh Vincent texts him back just a few minutes later: V: No problem. I hope you feel better soon V: Leon and Victoire invited me out for lunch Yves blinks. Thatâs a little surprising. But come to think about it, Vincentâs plans with Genevieveâs friends arenât until dinner time, so it makes sense that heâs out doing something else. His second thought is: he is definitely in for an earful from both Leon and Victoire. Y: jealous! have fun! His phone buzzes not long later with Vincentâs response. V: I considered waking you, but I figured you could use the sleep V: Do you want me to bring anything back? Sure enough, when he checks his unread texts, Leon has texted him, are u alive????? And then, a few minutes later, ur sick? dude worst fucking timing ever đŠ, to which Yves types back, thanks for your glowing reassurance Victoire has sent him, vincent told me youâre sick :((( and, feel better soon (preferably before 3pm tomorrow!!), to which Yves says, thanks, fwding this to my body. hope it gets the message âïž Then he sends back to Vincent: Y: Iâm good, but thanks for asking! enjoy lunch Vincent doesnât say anything, to that, which means that heâs probably busy. Yves makes a note to thank him in person later. And again, much laterâwhen all of this is over. He just has to get the next day and a half to go according to plan. â The wedding rehearsal is mercifully uneventful. They walk twice through the processional, and then twice through the recessional. Yves picks a seat near one of the back rows, shivers through thirty minutes of run throughs, and tries to cough as discreetly as he can. He stifles every sneeze into a vague approximation of silenceâheâs never been good at stiflingâand does his best to ignore the mounting congestion in his sinuses, the persistent ache behind his temples. It's easy enough to ignore all of those things in his excitement. Heâs happy to be backâhere, in France, surrounded by his whole extended family A part of this still feels unreal to him. Heâs really here, in a place that feels familiar and simultaneously so novel, to watch someone whoâs influenced him so fundamentally get married. Theyâre all dressed for the spring weather. For the wedding rehearsal, Yves picked out a gray blazer over a dress shirt, chinos, and dress shoes. Itâs not quite as formal as what heâs planning to wear tomorrowâthe shoes are the only item heâs planning to rewearâbut he finds himself distinctly grateful for the blazer jacket when the wind threads through the trees, knocking his tie slightly out of alignment. Itâs not unusually cold outâthis would probably be considered temperate weather here, in Marchâbut the wind is cold enough to offset the otherwise agreeable temperature. The cold medicine helps, tooâit keeps him feeling well enough to stay upright, which is already an accomplishment. Heâs congestedâhis sinuses hurt a little, like everythingâs a little waterloggedâbut at least he isnât sneezing as much as he was last night. His head still feels heavy, but the pain is a little duller, a little more muted; heâs tired, but he thinks right now he could stay awake on pure adrenaline alone. âDude, you sound awful,â Leon says, after the rehearsal ends. âThadks,â Yves says, muffling a fit of coughs into his elbow. âYou always kdow just how to flatter me.â Leon looks him over with a frown. âAre you sure youâre good for tomorrow?â Yves doesnât know. âLetâs hope so,â he says. âI donât have any contingedcy plans for if Iâm not.â âIâm sure Aimee would understand if you told her.â âIâm sure she would.â Yves looks over to where Aimeeâs standingâsheâs in the middle of a conversation with Yvesâs parents and some of the adults on Genevieveâs side of the family. Heâs too far to make out what sheâs talking about, but she looks happyâsheâs gesturing animatedly, her eyes bright. Every so often, he sees her flash a smile at Genevieve, as if to make sure Genevieve is following along. Leon seems to understand that Yves has no intention of telling either of them, because he sighs. Yves changes the subject before he can say anything. âHow was ludch with Vincent?â âI like him,â Leon says, brightening at the question. âHeâs surprisingly pretty funny. I hope you guys stay together.â âJust because heâs funny?â âThat certainly doesnât hurt,â Leon says, grinning. âBut you work with him, right? If heâs a nice person while heâs looking at like, tax forms, or whatever, heâs probably a great person when heâs doing anything else.â âYves! Leon!â someone waves them over. When Yves turns, he sees itâs Roy, one of his younger cousins from his dadâs side of the family. âPictures!â âComing,â Leon shouts back. Yves has no idea why there are pictures happening today when the wedding is tomorrow, but he fixes his tie hastily and heads over to join them both. â When dinner rolls around, Yves finds he has no appetite, but he eats what he can and spends the rest of the time making conversation with some of his aunts and uncles. Heâs always found this kind of small talk to be more enjoyable than it is tedious. They ask about his job, about his workload, about life in the states, about his parents, about Vincentâall things that he knows intimately, and has no problem speaking on. He thinks that speaking in French makes him a little more deliberate with his answers, partially because he has to spend some time formulating the sentences when they get more complicated, and he likes that, too. It has all the camaraderie of a family gatheringâwarm and crowded, welcoming, a little chaotic. He finds Genevieve after dinner, sitting out on the steps. âHey,â he says, in French. She looks up, and he motions to the steps beside her. âDo you want some time alone before you get swamped with codgratulations tomorrow, or can I crash your alone time early?â She smiles up at him. âYou can sit here,â she says. He takes a seat on the stepsâa few feet away from her, because he doesnât want to risk passing whatever he has onto her. He doesnât know Genevieve very well. He knows her best through Aimeeâthrough the stories Aimee has told about her, through the way Aimeeâs entire disposition seems to change around herâbut heâs exchanged very few words with her outside of that, all over the summer during their yearly family reunions in France. His extended family is large enough and the family reunions hectic enough that he can probably count the number of conversations heâs had with her in person on one hand. âSo,â he says. âHow are you feelidg before the big day?â âDo you want the good answer, or the honest answer?â âThe honest one,â Yves says. âhit me with it.â For a moment, Genevieve doesnât say anything. Yves zips his jacket up a little higher, just to have something to do. Genevieve pulls her legs in towards her chest. âIâm terrified,â she says. âYou think somethidg might go wrong?â Yves asks, surprised. âYou guys have planned this all out so thoroughly.â âItâs not that,â she says. âItâs more likeâthis is probably going to be one of the most important things Iâve ever done,â she says. âYou know, when something is really important to you, so itâs just that much more crucial that you donât mess it up?â âYouâre the bride,â Yves says, clearing his throat. âI donât think you can mess up. Unless you like, hheh-! hHheh⊠HEHâIIDZschH-YIEEW! snf-! Unless you get cold feet and say no when youâre supposed to be saying your vows. I wodât forgive you if you do that, by the way.â She laughs. âGod, no. Iâd never do that. Itâs justâthereâs all this perceived⊠I donât know. Like, fragility around the moment. Like youâre just waiting for the moment to crystallize, and once it sets, it will be like that forever, so you have to make sure that it crystallizes right.â âIâm guessing youâre ndot a fan of, like, pottery,â Yves says. He tries thinking about what other kinds of art carry the same lack of tolerance for backwards revision. âOr sculpting.â âI havenât tried either of those things,â she says. âThough I would probably be bad at them.â Yves looks off into the distance, towards the countryside, the rows of verdant green hills which unfurl before them, the white cobblestone paths, the houses lining the winding roads all the way to the horizon. âI think you donât have to be so concerned about what itâs supposed to be,â he says. âYou can give yourself permission to justâlive it. Enjoy it, free of expectations. Who cares what you think about it after, right,â he says. âYouâll have a ring on your left hand. Thatâs good enough to offset anyâwell, awkwardness, or clumsiness, or anything, because as the bride, you are sort of incapable of doing anything wrong, by default.â âI guess,â Genevieve says. âItâd be a disservice to Aimee if you spent the wedding worrying about how to get things right idstead of like, just living,â Yves says, turning to face her. âWhatâs the worst that could happen? Like, you spill your drink during the wedding toast, or your mascara smears a little, or you trip on your wedding gown and you have to be helped up by the woman you love most? I think that almost makes it more romantic,â he says. âBecause however the moment crystallizes, itâll be you.â âDid you learn all of this through pottery and sculpting?â Genevieve asks, wiping at her eyes. She looks a little better than beforeâsheâs sitting up straighter, and the tension in her shoulders is less pronounced. Yves grins at her. âI have a younger brother and a younger sister,â he says. He clears his throat again, though it doesnât really do a good job at making his voice sound less hoarse. âItâs exactly as bad as you think it is. I have to be the one to talk them out of their stage fright like, all the time.â Genevieve laughs. âIt must be lively,â she says. âYour whole family is very accommodating.â âTheyâre certaidly a handful,â Yves says, with a laugh that tapers off into a short cough. âI love them to death. And Iâll be happy to have you as part of them.â She smiles at him. The evening light strikes the windblown strands of her hair gold. âThanks for this.â âYeah,â he says. âNo problem.â They sit for awhile in silence. Yves crosses his arms in an attempt to conserve warmth and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. âHow did you kdow it was her?â he asksâa sudden, impulsive question. As soon as he says it, he feels the urge to take it back. Genevieve is already stressed out enough about the wedding without him asking her difficult, abstract questions the day before the ceremony. He opens his mouth to apologize. âThere was never any doubt,â she says. When he looks over at her, her expression looks a little wistful. âLike, one day I woke up and I realized that whatever future I imagined for myselfâin Marseille, or elsewhere; as a copywriter, or a journalist, or a director, or something entirely differentâshe would always be there.â Yves understands thatâback when heâd been dating Erika, heâd felt like that too. That she was going to be the last person heâd ever date. That there was no conceivable future for him that didnât involve her. âThose kinds of revelations would come at the most insignificant of times,â Genevieve says. âIâd look over her halfway through morning coffee, or Iâd watch her pick groceries from the aisle, or Iâd watch her fiddle with the radio as she drove, and then it would strike me.â âThat you wanted to be with her?â âThat I was happy.â Genevieve tilts her head back to face the setting sun. âIâm really happy. It sounds like such a simple thing, and it is, but even a few years ago Iâm not sure if I couldâve told you that that was true. And I think that finding someone who makes you feel that wayâlike theyâd guard your happiness under any circumstanceâis really something special.â âYou were the one who proposed to her,â he says. He remembers Aimee texting him about it, the night after itâd happened, remembers how heâd excused himself from dinner somewhere or other, ducked out of the room to get on call with her. Sheâd sobbed recounting it, the engagement ring on her finger. âI was,â Genevieve says. She smiles. âI knew that if I gave up this chance Iâd be kicking myself for it for the rest of my life.â â When he gets back from dinner at last, itâs late. The cold/flu medicine he took from earlier is starting to wear off. His whole body achesâspending the evening outside in the cold probably didnât help with thatâand even in the relative warmth of the hotel room, he finds that he canât stop himself from shivering. He takes a hot shower, which feels pleasantly indulgent in the moment, but not long after he shuts off the water, he finds himself shivering again. The absence of the hot water makes him a little dizzyâhe finds himself gripping the tiled wall, pausing for a moment behind the shower curtain to catch his balance. His head really hurts. Itâs the kind of sharp, throbbing pain that makes him all too aware of his heartbeat. He gets changed, towels his hair dry, and steps out of the bathroom. Vincent is sitting on the bed, reading something. He mustâve gotten back at some point while Yves was showering. At the sound of the door, he puts the book down and looks up. âHow was the wedding rehearsal?â he asks. âGreat,â Yves says. He clears his throat, but clearing his throat irritates his throat enough that he has to muffle a few coughs into his elbow. âHow was dinner with Genevieveâs friends?â âThey were very nice,â Vincent says. âNdicer than my friends in New York?â âI felt less like I was being evaluated,â Vincent says, with a smile. âBut if they were to express their disapproval of me in French, I would be none the wiser.â Yves laughs. âIâmb sure that even if you learned the ladguage in full, you wouldnât hear any disapproval from them.â He takes a seat on the couch, if only because he canât quite trust his legs to keep him upright for the entire course of the conversation. âWhat did you guys talk about?â âLots of things. Life in France,â he says. âLife in the states. Individual freedom and the formal institution of marriage.â âDo you believe in mbarriage?â Vincent looks at him. âI think I believe in it just as much as everyone else does,â he says. Then, after a moment: âIt worked out for my parents.â âThe busidess competition proved to be a good edough reason?â Vincent traces a finger down the spine of the book, over the gold lettering. His shoulders settle. âThey werenât in love when they got married,â he says. Hearing him state it so plainly comes as a surprise to Yves. âStrictly speaking, Iâm not sure if they ever were in love. But I think they came to love each other eventually.â âWhat about you?â Yves asks. âDo you think youâll fall in love someday?â âIs that really something Iâd choose?â Vincent says. âIt either happens or it doesnât.â âSure, but there are plenty of ways you can seek out love actively.â âIf I found something worth pursuing, Iâd go after it,â Vincent says. Yves laughs. âThatâs very like you.â he wonders what kind of person Vincent might be drawn to enough to see as worth pursuing. Wonders if, after all of this is over, heâll even be in Vincentâs life for long enough to know. His head hurts. The slight prickle of irritation in his sinuses is already tiringly familiar. âhHEh⊠HeHhâIIDZSCH-yyiEW!â The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist, messy and spraying. He reaches for the tissue box Vincent left him this morning, still nestled into the crook of the couch, and grabs a generous handful of tissues. âHh⊠hehh-HEh-HhehHhâIIzSSCH-iEEw! HhâŠ. HEHhâDJSCCHh-IEew!â The sneezes leave him coughing, afterwards. His throat feels raw and tenderâhe raises the tissues back up to his face to blow his nose. âYou sound worse than you did last night,â Vincent says, with a frown. Yves opens his mouth to speak, but he finds himself coughing again. He can feel Vincentâs eyes on him. Itâs embarrassing, he thinks, to be seen when heâs like this by someone whoâs usually so well put together. âIâb a little prone to losidg my voice when Iâm sick,â he admits. âItâs pretty incodvedient.â âIâm probably not making it any better by talking to you,â Vincent says. That might be trueâYves is half sure that any time he does lose his voice, itâs because he typically makes no effort to converse any less than usualâbut Yves likes talking to Vincent. Besides, they havenât talked all day. He opens his mouth to say as much, but then Vincent asks: âHow are you feeling?â âGood as new,â Yves says. When Vincent raises an eyebrow, at that, he amends: âGood enough for tomorrow, at least. The ceremony doesnât start until three, but Iâll probably be up earlier to see if thereâs anything else Aimee and Genevieve ndeed help with.â Vincentâs eyebrows furrow. âIf anything comes up, I can help.â âItâs fine,â Yves says. âI couldnât ask you to do that.â âYou donât have to ask. Iâm offering.â âI can handle it on my own. Even if it doesnât seem like it, Iâ hHHEhâIDJZSCHh-yyEW! snf-! Iâmb really fine. I swear.â âYvesââ âIâve done this before,â he insists, which is true, tooâheâs certainly been through worse. It would be wrong to put himself first, to take things easy when he might be needed still. âIt doesnât have to be your problem.â For a moment, thereâs something there, to Vincentâs expressionâa flash of something that looks suspiciously close to hurt. Then itâs gone. When he blinks, Vincentâs expression is carefully neutral, as usual. He wonders if heâd imagined it. âOkay,â he says. He sets the book gingerly on the bedside counter, and pulls the cord on the lamp. Darkness engulfs the bedroom. âYou should sleep soon, if youâre able to.â A pause. The rustling of sheets. âGoodnight.â Yves wants to say something. He has a feeling that heâs messed things up, somehow, though heâs not entirely sure how. But what can he say? He justâhe just wants, desperately, for all of this to be okay. He wants the wedding to go just as planned, wants to be as present and as reliable as Aimee deserves for him to be. All of that responsibility falls on him and him alone, doesnât it? âGoodnight,â Yves says, instead. Edited January 16 by monochrome Link to comment
dwaekki Posted January 16 Share Posted January 16 Aww! I hope we get to see some more of sweet, concerned Vincent soon! I loved his subtle caretaking Link to comment
Dye Posted January 16 Share Posted January 16 YVES YOU FOOOOOOOOOOOOOLÂ (GRABBING HIM AND SHAKING HIM VIOLENTLY) AUGH GHE WAY YOU WRITE THESE CHARACTERS THEHRE SO REAL THEY FEEL SO REAL I AM GONNA ESPLODE YVES YOU GOTTA BE MORE HONEST WITH URSELF AUUYAGHGHGHG Link to comment
Yaolita Posted January 17 Share Posted January 17 Love it! These two are my favorite OC characters! More please Link to comment
sprinkles287 Posted January 19 Share Posted January 19 Im overwhelmed with happiness at these two updates. Yves is so clueless. I hope Vincent realizes heâs gotta be completely direct with his feelings or Yves is never gonna catch on. Iâm already looking forward to the next update Iâm insatiable I know Link to comment
Not Telling Posted January 19 Share Posted January 19 I get so engrossed in every update you post, it pulls me in and transports me into the story, it's almost bittersweet when I reach the end because I don't want it to be over haha, but at least I have all the previous chapters to fuel me-I don't think I'll ever tire of reading these two. Spectacular update, as per usual. This was such an emotional update, my stomach is in knotted turmoil after reading this. I hate seeing Yves suffer and feel like he has to suffer and bear it all alone. I hate seeing him completely ignore what's right in front of him. I feel bad for Vincent when it's so obvious that he wants to support Yves and take care of him and Yves continuously pushes him away and is unknowingly hurting him in the process. This chapter is a nugget of all the feels - from mushy to frustration and everything in between, and I think I might implode. Something's gotta give soon right? Right!? On 1/15/2024 at 8:42 PM, monochrome said: âIâve done this before,â he insists, which is true, tooâheâs certainly been through worse. It would be wrong to put himself first, to take things easy when he might be needed still. âIt doesnât have to be your problem.â For a moment, thereâs something there, to Vincentâs expressionâa flash of something that looks suspiciously close to hurt. Then itâs gone. When he blinks, Vincentâs expression is carefully neutral, as usual. He wonders if heâd imagined it. âOkay,â he says. He sets the book gingerly on the bedside counter, and pulls the cord on the lamp. Darkness engulfs the bedroom. âYou should sleep soon, if youâre able to.â A pause. The rustling of sheets. âGoodnight.â Yves wants to say something. He has a feeling that heâs messed things up, somehow, though heâs not entirely sure how. But what can he say? He justâhe just wants, desperately, for all of this to be okay. He wants the wedding to go just as planned, wants to be as present and as reliable as Aimee deserves for him to be. All of that responsibility falls on him and him alone, doesnât it? âGoodnight,â Yves says, instead. This segment in particular DESTROYS me! I'm literally clutching my heart and ranting at my screen! Yves, come on, this isn't your burden to bear all alone! Stop being so obtuse!!! @sprinkles287 has it right, Vincent is going to have to take the lead here, because Yves is hopelessly oblivious, and seems to have difficulty fathoming a reality that underneath the farce there are genuine feelings! Thank you for this update and for sharing your wonderful writing and incredible characters with us. I'm so glad that in spite of your self-consciousness and the agony that comes with being an author you are willing to share your work among all of us, the site is better for having your work for us to enjoy! â€ïž I'm excited to see what happens next. As it stands, I need to engage in some self soothing practice and emotionally recovery and reset from this chapter, so please feel free to take your time. đ Link to comment
funbusej Posted January 24 Share Posted January 24 YVES!!! You bonehead!! Tsk. First born syndrome is strong with this one...Seriously, dude, if Vincent wasn't interested in you, he wouldn't be doing all this for you. These boys are so dense, but so loveable. Link to comment
Recommended Posts
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now